


And you'll be my home

by Yuu_chi



Category: Half Life Trilogy - Sally Green
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Series, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuu_chi/pseuds/Yuu_chi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over; Gabriel teaches Nathan how to truly live again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And you'll be my home

When it’s all said and done, Soul O’Brien is torn to shreds – a goopy mess that soaks into the expensive carpet of his now vacant office – and half the people Gabriel knows these days are dead.

As far as wars go the casualty list is short; the real damage had been the executions and lynching that had started the whole business. Compared to the literal wall of names that has since been erected in the English Council’s central foyer – victims of Soul and his dictatorship of a government, and the memorial suspiciously absent still of Black Witches – Gabriel knows that the Alliance should consider themselves lucky.

Most of them don’t. There’s a lot mourning to be done.

(But Gabriel does – consider himself lucky that is – because despite it all Nathan had gotten out alive. Nathan had lived. And that was the only thing Gabriel cared about.)

When the victory is still fresh and new, Celia gives a rousing speech about change and progress and “the betterment of all witches in Europe”. Gabriel doesn’t even try to be attentive because Soul’s innards are probably still warm on the ground and Nathan has been incredibly silent ever since he –

Gabriel cuts the thought short because he knows Nathan wouldn’t want him thinking it and instead presses a little closer to him, their shoulders knocking together and their hands brushing slightly and Gabriel wants to take it so bad, to link their fingers together and keep Nathan anchored here with him because the boy looks about a thousand miles away from what’s happening right now.

So he does – and Nathan’s skin feels slick and bloody against his own.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Nathan hisses under this breath, and he tugs at their hands, tries to pull away, but Gabriel doesn’t let him because he literally doesn’t care that Nathan looks like he’s wearing bright red gloves that stretch like rubber up to his elbows – wouldn’t care if Nathan was completely and utterly covered in the stuff.

He squeezes his fingers. “Nathan,” he says in reply, steady and even and keeping his eyes fixed forward.

“– And we can live in peace without fear of persecution once more,” Celia says.

Beside him, Nathan shivers.

.

The cleanup is a long and political process and has absolutely nothing more to do with them.

Gabriel and Nathan had been soldiers – arguably, Nathan had been _the_ solider – and the politics of the bloody aftermath is for other people to tidy, people whose hands were clean of the blood that Gabriel watches Nathan scrub from away with a kind of viciousness that hurts him more than he can describe.

“You don’t have to be here,” Nathan says as the drain greedily pulls the blood towards it in messy gulps.

Gabriel doesn’t move. “Is that a request?”

Nathan frowns, but he’s still looking at his hands, picking at the clumps of blood stuck stubbornly beneath his nails as the water runs too hot on his skin. “Does it need to be?”

“That depends on whether you want me gone or if you’re just trying to be polite.”

Nathan’s face twists up into something that might have been a grin on any other day but this one. “I’m never polite. You should know me better than that by now.”

“I do,” Gabriel says, and he takes a step forward, away from the walls and towards Nathan. His footsteps are unusually loud against the cement floor as he comes near enough to touch Nathan’s elbow. It’s light, but Nathan flinches all the same. “And I know you well enough to know that you don’t actually want to be alone right now.”

“You know jack shit,” Nathan says, but the words sound tired and he slumps a little and his soapy hands grip lightly at the edge of the still running sink.

“Nathan,” Gabriel says and Nathan’s eyes close.

He takes another step forward and takes Nathan’s shoulders in his hands, turning him around and away from the sink. Nathan stiffens a little but he doesn’t resist; allows Gabriel to pull him up against his chest, to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in the cache of skin below Nathan’s ear.

He smells a little like soap and a lot like blood.

For a moment they stand awkwardly pressed together – just Gabriel holding him close and Nathan allowing it – but then after a moment that seems to stretch forever in the rapid beat of Nathan’s heart against Gabriel’s chest, he moves.

Slowly, like he doesn’t want Gabriel to realize what he’s doing, he raises his dripping, sudsy hands and clumsily sets them on Gabriel’s waist. He can feel Nathan’s pruney fingers against his skin, the way he lets his head settle on Gabriel’s shoulder, the heaving of his breath that slides hot against his neck.

Words are on Gabriel’s lips – _you_ _’re okay, you did nothing wrong, I love you so much, I_ _’m so glad you_ _’_ _re alive_ – but he swallows them back down because words are for later, not now when he can feel Nathan’s shakes against his skin.

They stay like that until somebody comes to find them.

.

Gabriel hasn’t seen Annalise since long before the final showdown. Not since the day she’d run away from the camp after putting three bullets in Nathan’s father and leaving him to die.

He doesn’t know if Nathan has either – it doesn’t seem possible, Nathan and Gabriel are together so often he sometimes forgets that being apart is an option – but Nathan has always been uniquely good at doing the impossible.

Three days after Soul’s death they’re staying with Arran in his too small hotel room and there’s a knock at the door.

Arran’s out – school; because Fain life doesn’t stop for Witch politics – and it’s just Gabriel sitting curled up on the sofa pretending he’s reading a book when he’s actually watching Nathan and Nathan pretending he’s doing push-ups on the balcony when he’s actually so deep in his own head that he doesn’t even hear the knock.

That worries Gabriel more than he’d care to admit because Nathan is the kind of person that can hear a pin drop two rooms over and be out the window before anybody can explain.

The knock comes again and this one Nathan hears; jerking up right so fast that Gabriel can almost see the snap of his neck. They stare at each other and Gabriel shrugs. Nathan narrows his eyes and thins his lips, rolling his shoulders in that way he does when he’s unconsciously slipping into his survival mindset.

“No,” Gabriel says as he gets to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

“I’m a better fighter than you,” Nathan objects which – well, it’s not exactly a lie, but to be fair Nathan is a better fighter than everybody when it comes to hand-to-hand.

“It’s not going to be a fight,” Gabriel insists, setting aside his book and crossing the room. He hesitates by the door. “But be ready all the same.”

Behind him Nathan snickers, and Gabriel doesn’t even need to look to know he’ll have one foot out the window and the Fairborn in his hand.

The knock comes once more, more timid, and for a moment Gabriel thinks about not answering it.

He wants to stay as he is; alone with Nathan in this too small hotel room and their own little world. He wants it so dearly, so suddenly, and so completely. But –

More than anything Gabriel is a realist, and he knows that the real world won’t just go away just like that.

 _The real world is a piece of shit_ , Gabriel thinks, but he undoes the locks on the door with one hand and reaches for his gun with the other.

He opens the door.

“Oh,” Annalise says quietly. “Gabriel... I…didn’t realize you were here.”

For one horrible moment Gabriel can feel the heft of his gun against his hand and as he stares into her wide, blue eyes he imagines how easy it would be to put a bullet between them.

He can see it so clearly too; her face going pale, the shimmer of the wound as her body struggled to heal the unhealable, the spray of her hair on the cheap tiles outside the room. It’s not like he’s never done it before – put a bullet in the head of a girl that betrayed somebody he loved more than life itself – and the Black Witch in him itches for it so bad.

He knows Nathan only kills out of necessity and rarely finds joy in it. Gabriel’s not like that though. Under the right circumstances he could be persuaded to find it therapeutic.

Annalise must see something in his eyes because she takes the smallest of steps back and away from him – _not a smart girl, if Gabriel had intended to shoot her she_ _’d have a better chance stepping in closer to stop him drawing his gun_ -  and her eyes flick down to where his hand rests around the grip of the glock.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you either,” he says, and his voice makes it so very clear she’s unwelcome here, low enough that Nathan won’t be able to make out his words. He doesn’t say anything else, just stares her down so she can stew in the uncomfortable silence.

“I came to see Nathan,” she says, but she doesn’t sound confident. Possibly she’s worked out that there’s no way in hell Gabriel is letting her anywhere near him if he can help it.

It’s not just… it’s not just Gabriel being selfish. Although it would be a lie to say that it didn’t factor into it at all. But it’s –

Nathan is so messed up right now and Gabriel can help. _Only_ Gabriel.

Seeing Annalise is just going to make him worse.

Gabriel is doing this for Nathan.

(Always, forever, for Nathan.)

“I know you did,” Gabriel says and doesn’t budge an inch. “I just don’t care.” Annalise’s eyes flash and she opens her mouth to say something but Gabriel talks over her. “What gives you the right to think you can talk to him now after everything that’s happened?”

The ‘everything you’ve done’ is silent but stuffed in the spaces between his each and every word.

“My right,” she grits out from between her teeth, “is the same as your right. You’re not the only one who cares about him.”

“Maybe not,” Gabriel allows. “But at least I didn’t kill his father and leave him to fight a war on his own.”

They might have stayed in the doorway stuck in a stalemate for the rest of ever but there was the lightest sound of Nathan’s feet on the carpet and Gabriel knew he was out of time.

“Nathan, don’t –.”

But Nathan was already at his shoulder, peering around him even when Gabriel tried futilely to block his view, and Gabriel can tell the exact moment he realizes who is at the door.

“Annalise,” he says, and he sounds like somebody has just punched him in the gut; breathless, surprised and so confused.

Gabriel closes his eyes for a moment, takes in a long quiet breath and feels his fingers ache with how hard they are suddenly squeezing his gun.

In the end it didn’t matter. It didn’t ever seem to matter what Gabriel did or didn’t do. Whether they were at war or not, whether it’d been Gabriel who had been standing by his side for all this time, it always –

It always came back to Annalise.

“Do you want to let her in?” Gabriel asks once the long silent moment had passed between the three of them and he feels Nathan actually stiffen in surprise behind him.

“You’d let her?” He blurts because Nathan had never been terribly good at keeping his thoughts inside.

Gabriel gives a neutral shrug and possibly the most painful smile of his life – and he’d know, he’d had to fake his way through so many of them at this point. “It’s not up to me, is it?”

Nathan studies him closely; black eyes flicking about his face and watching him intently for any entryway into his thoughts.

Gabriel blanks him.

“We don’t have to talk here if it makes you uncomfortable,” Annalise says hesitantly and Gabriel tries not to wince at her voice. “We can… go somewhere else?”

“No,” Nathan says before Gabriel can even get the word out himself. “If we talk, we do it here. I’m not…” Nathan takes in a deep breath. Gabriel can see it shudder its way down inside his chest. “I’m not sure if I can trust you.”

“Nathan,” Annalise says, and her voice is pained and gentle and sympathetic and so fucking _patronizing_. “My uncle is gone, it’s over. There’s no one I could betray you to at this point, you get that right?”

Nathan gives her a wry smile that is all teeth. “There’s always going to be somebody you can betray me to, Annalise. There’s always going to be someone that wants me dead. You get that right?”

Gabriel stares at him because he’s never seen Nathan like this; never heard him so openly mock Annalise and her naiveté.

Annalise looks startled too, and she bites at one of her perfect lips and scuffs her perfect foot along the floor and looks perfectly fucking bashful and apologetic and Gabriel _– he just hates her so much_.

“We can talk here,” she says, and she takes a step closer and Gabriel takes a step back on instinct because he doesn’t want this girl to touch him.

“Okay,” Nathan says, and he sucks in another deep breath. He turns to look at Gabriel. “Gabriel –.”

“I’ll be on the balcony,” he announces, talking over whatever Nathan was going to say, because he knows Nathan doesn’t expect him to leave – would never ask him that, knows even if he did Gabriel would never – but Gabriel wants to be in the room with the two of them right now as much as he wants two Hunter bullets ripping into his chest.

(another thing he should know about in excruciating detail.)

He turns about on the heels of his boots and doesn’t look at either of them as he slides out the open balcony door. He doesn’t close it fully behind him, leaving it ajar the slightest inch because if something goes to shit inside he doesn’t particularly feel like crashing through a sheet of glass.

In that moment before the door clicks against the frame he hears Annalise whisper, voice soft and tender, “ _I missed you_.”

.

Gabriel keeps himself tucked up next to the door; near enough to hear the soft murmur of their voices and catch the briefest glances of movement from the corner of his eyes, but far enough so that he doesn’t have to watch it.

He doesn’t really need to. He feels like he’s seen this, heard this, been a part of this, a thousand and one times already.

He wonders if Annalise even knows what her existence means for him. That every single damn time he thinks that he and Nathan might be making progress all she has to do is flutter her eyelashes and step back into the picture and Gabriel just – Nathan just –

And the worst part is Gabriel can’t even hate her for it. He hates her alright, but not because of this. Because he’s no stranger to how hard it is to let Nathan go; how can he begrudge her for something like that?

He leans back and his head hits the brick wall behind him with a soft thud. He’s been out here around an hour and they’re still talking inside. Whispered words that he could probably catch if he strained to hear them but he doesn’t.

If there’s even the slightest chance that their conversation shifts in a direction that Gabriel doesn’t want to be anywhere near he knows he’ll just climb off the damn balcony and take his chances with the fifty foot drop and his severely stunted healing factor.

(it’s like his body still forgets it’s not Fain, that they’re safe now, that Nathan _saved_ them.)

It takes Gabriel a moment to realize that everything inside has gone quiet.

He straightens, back on his feet in a second and gun already hot in his palms, but before he can burst inside and empty his clip into Annalise there’s the soft shudder of the flimsy balcony door being opened and Nathan steps outside.

He looks exhausted. His face is sheet white and his jaw is set like he’s expecting Gabriel to punch him even though Gabriel hasn’t ever laid a hand on him like that a day in their lives; not even when Nathan gave him the scar that still hitches through his eyebrow.

“Hey,” Nathan says, and it’s so horrifically awkward that it’s almost funny because Nathan doesn’t do that – greet people – he just bursts into conversation or sulks in sullen silences until Gabriel can manage to wrangle a small smile or a punch to the ribs out of him.

“Hey,” Gabriel says and he tries to resist, he does, but Gabriel is not above being petty, and he asks: “So how was Annalise?”

Nathan scowls at him and looks away. “She was fine.”

Gabriel waits.

Nathan lets out a huge breath and takes the next few steps so he can lean against the balcony railing just a little to Gabriel’s left. He’s near enough to touch.

“She’s back with her family. Her mother had a breakdown, and Annalise wants to help take care of her or something.”

 _Unsurprising,_ Gabriel thinks, because he’s not exactly well versed in this whole loving White Witch family thing, but he guesses the Whites don’t take three out of their four children being brutally murdered very well.

Gabriel’s mother was killed by her boyfriend, his father is a drunkard and his sister was lynched for going onto White Witch territory to see the man she loved. Standard Black Witch family stuff, he guesses.

“She says her parents welcomed her back with open arms,” Nathan says, and his fingers are clacking against the railing; a noisy _click-click-click_ of his rough-bitten nails. “So either she was lying about how they locked her up for years or she’s being stupid going back there.”

Gabriel doesn’t think he’s ever heard Nathan call Annalise something like that before. She’d always been ‘beautiful’ or ‘perfect’ or Gabriel’s personal favourite: ‘I trust her, Gabriel’.

Part of him likes it – the part of him that still desperately claws at any chance he possibly has to be loved by Nathan even a fraction of as much as he claims to Annalise – but most of him feels deeply unsettled.

It’s just another way Nathan has changed in the last six months, the last few weeks – the last few days, even, since he’d lost control in the middle of what had been a planned ambush to take Soul prisoner and had instead torn him to pieces so thoroughly that there had probably been more of him inside Nathan’s stomach than on the floor.

He studies him now, the dark circles under his eyes and the silky waxen look of his usually burnt-to-a-deep-tan skin. Nathan has been falling steadily apart since Marcus, and Gabriel knew that, but what had happened with Soul had probably been the last kick to the gut Nathan could take.

He doesn’t think Nathan’s slept since it happened. He’s definitely not eaten.

Gabriel knows that Nathan has always been teetering on just the wrong side of unbalanced, that a whole life of being hunted and beaten and having all of his freedom stripped from him has left Nathan more damaged than he wants to admit.

He’s known that since he met him all the way back in Geneva, had felt it when Nathan had seen his Fain eyes that first time and had beaten him bloody and unconscious.

Gabriel is fully aware that Nathan has always been so, so dangerously close to breaking down completely. He’s never pretended otherwise.

He just loves him. He loves everything about him. Loves him in ways he’d never thought was possible.

He’d love Nathan no matter what, whether he’s completely all there or not.

And he’s not sure Nathan realizes that sometimes. Gabriel’s said it often enough he’s sure – tried to drill into Nathan just what he means to him, not even so Nathan could reciprocate, but because he needs Nathan to understand just how loved he is, how precious he is, that he’s not that fourteen year old chained up in a cage all alone anymore.

That Gabriel will shield him from absolutely everything that is within his power.

Van once said that Gabriel would skin a friend alive ten times over without a second thought for Nathan. She’d been right too, but not completely.

Gabriel would skin _himself_ alive, on repeat, for all eternity, for Nathan.

But words like that are too heavy right now and Gabriel knows they’d accomplish nothing. Instead he settles against the railing by Nathan so that their wrists brush.

“Did you try and talk her out of it?” He asks softly. “Going back home, I mean.”

Nathan’s knuckles goes white and Gabriel can see him biting at the inside of his cheek in that awful way he sometimes does, completely gnawing through the skin quicker than it can heal. “Yeah,” he says, but he says it like he doesn’t mean it.

Gabriel waits.

“I…” His grip on the splintering wood beneath his fingers tightens once again and this time Gabriel can almost hear it groan beneath the pressure. “I asked her but I… I didn’t want her to say yes.”

“To what?”

“To staying. I didn’t want her to stay.” Nathan’s eyes are closed and his breathing is rapidly speeding up and Gabriel has seen this enough to know that Nathan is trying to stop himself from flying into a full on temper. “I told her I missed her when I didn’t. I didn’t miss her, Gabriel. She’s supposed to be the love of my life and from the moment she stepped in the door I wanted her gone. How fucked up is that?”

Gabriel slides his hand across the railing so his palm covers the back of Nathan’s knuckles. His skin is hot and tight to touch. “It’s not fucked up at all. It’d be fucked up if you _did_. You haven’t seen her in six months, and you didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“That shouldn’t matter,” Nathan insists. “I love her. I should want her with me all the time. That’s how this is supposed to work, isn’t it?”

 _Yeah_ , says something at the back of Gabriel’s mind, because he hasn’t wanted to be away from Nathan a single day since he’d met him. Not even when they’d had their fights, not even during the times Nathan had rejected him for Annalise. Not even that terrible week after Nathan had kissed him when it had physically hurt to be in the same room as him – where it had killed something inside of him to have to stand by and watch him make eyes at Annalise when all Gabriel could remember was the way Nathan’s fingers had felt on the back of his neck and the hoarse way Nathan had whispered his name right against his lips.

He doesn’t say any of that but instead asks: “Why do you always say ‘supposed’ to?”

Nathan’s brow crinkles. “What?”

“You say she’s supposed to be the love of your life, or you’re supposed to love her always. Doesn’t that sound off to you?”

“Gabriel,” Nathan warns.

Gabriel sighs. “Nathan, you’re not ‘supposed’ to do anything. You either love Annalise or you don’t. Just because you loved her when you were fourteen doesn’t mean you’re obligated to love her now. People change. You did, she did. It happens.”

“That’s not –.”

“I’m not saying what feelings you had for her weren’t real,” Gabriel interrupts. “I’m just saying that what you felt then and what you feel now are probably different things.” He has more to say, but he cuts himself off and gives Nathan his wryest smile. “But you should probably think about this on your own. It’s not exactly a secret I’ve been trying to subtly sabotage your relationship ever since I met you. I’m a qualified home wrecker.”

He expects that to finally coax a smile from Nathan, but instead he frowns even deeper if it’s at all possible. “Don’t say something stupid like that,” he scolds, finally letting go of the aching rail so he can turn to face Gabriel completely.

“Like what?” Gabriel asks, and he almost flinches in surprise when Nathan reaches up to cup his face in his hands, thumbs settling to a soft stroke along his cheekbones and the rough pads of his fingertips feel ridiculously good against his skin.

Gabriel holds his breath. Goes completely still. Stares into Nathan’s dark eyes and hopes that he doesn’t break the moment.

“You’re not a ‘homewrecker’,” Nathan breathes, and Gabriel can feel the soft whisper of it on his face. “Gabriel, you’re _home_.”

.

That night when it’s dark and Arran is asleep inside Nathan and Gabriel bundle themselves up on the balcony with a small collection of duvets and shared body heat to keep them warm.

Gabriel had almost forgotten how bitter cold English nights could be, but he finds he likes them just fine. Nathan sits by his side, doesn’t say anything when Gabriel pulls him nearer to wrap an arm around his shoulders and drape them both in a raggedy blanket.

He can feel the light way Nathan shivers and so he runs his hand soothingly up and down Nathan’s arm, trying to work some warmth back into him, and possibly enjoying the rough heat of his skin a bit too much.

All Gabriel really wants right now is to sit in silence with his arms around the boy he loves. Appreciate the quiet. Take a moment away from everything that had happened, a moment just for them.

He has to remind himself that he can have as many of these moments as he wants from now. The war is over, Nathan is – well, maybe not _safe_ , exactly, because Nathan will never be _safe_ … But he’s as near to it as he’s ever been.

Despite it all Gabriel is still expecting to see Hunters leaping up over the railing at any moment, coming at them with fire and lightning and guns. _Soul is dead_ , Gabriel tells himself firmly as he pushes his face down into Nathan’s perpetually messy hair, _Soul is dead, and the Council is in tatters, and Nathan has allies on the inside now. We_ _’re safe._

 _We_ _’re safe._

He’s _safe_.

“Oi,” Nathan murmurs, and Gabriel realizes he might have been squeezing just a little too tight.

He doesn’t say sorry but he does loosen his grip and let Nathan breathe again.

Nathan gives them a moment of silence, breathes loud in the icy night air, before he asks: “Alright?”

He’s never been really good at speaking but Gabriel gets what he’s asking anyway because he _always_ gets what Nathan actually means. More than anybody else. Not Annalise; _him_.

He nods a little, knows that Nathan can feel the twitchy movements against the back of his neck. “I’m going to ask you something unpleasant,” he says.

Nathan gives an irritated sigh and leans back against his chest. Probably for warmth. “Do you have to?”

Gabriel feels his mouth twitch a little at his sullenness. “A little,” he admits, and then reminds him: “I’ve been good about not asking.”

Nathan makes a grumpy, dissatisfied noise. Gabriel takes that as permission to plow ahead.

“What do you want to do now?”

“I want you to stop talking and let me sleep.”

“ _Nathan_.”

He sighs, and turns his head a little so he can look at Gabriel. The angle is awkward, but as usual Nathan is impressively flexible. His dark eyes flick along Gabriel’s face and he’s very obviously frowning.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Since when has it been up to me what I do?”

“It’s not like that now.”

“You think just because Soul’s dead the Council is going to let me have free roam?” Nathan snorts, and he doesn’t sound skeptical; a tad angry – because Nathan is always angry one way or another – but mostly resigned. “Best case, they lock me up and give me a trial and then execute me on the charge of being a Black Witch. Worst case, they execute me the moment they’ve got their fucking shit together with a bullet right to my brain.”

Gabriel hates it when Nathan talks like that, now more than ever.

“Maybe if this had just been a White Witch rebellion,” Gabriel says steadily. “But this involves Black Witches too. A lot of things are going to have to change. That was the point of the Alliance.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the Alliance.”

“Nathan, I’ve spent the past year fighting for the Alliance,” Gabriel smiles.

“That’s not –.”

“It’s true that I don’t particularly care about ‘the betterment of all witches in Europe’ – ”

He manages to get a faint snort out of Nathan for that.

“ – but I do care about what this means for you.” He pauses, looks into Nathan’s eyes and makes sure he understands the force behind his next words. “And it means that people have to stop hunting you.”

Nathan doesn’t look convinced, but he’s biting at his cheek again – and Gabriel will break him of that habit one day, mark his words – and he can see the gears turning in his mind, the thoughts whirring behind his intelligent eyes.

(people often made the mistake of thinking that Nathan was dumb. Because he couldn’t read, because he often had trouble focusing, because he could barely keep up a conversation that didn’t have anything to do with life or death.

Those people were the real dumb ones, because Gabriel had never met a more brilliant person than Nathan in his whole life.)

“You’re a real fucking optimist,” Nathan says after a moment and Gabriel flashes him a smile.

“Always, for you.”

Nathan rolls his eyes at him and turns back to face forward, and Gabriel thinks that that’s going to be it. That Nathan is done with the conversation. And that’s fine, because at least he’s thinking about it, but then –

“Move.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow even though he knows Nathan really can’t see. Next to him Nathan lets out an irritable noise and Gabriel rather suddenly finds himself being shoved backwards with enough force that he actually feels it bruise, but that leaves his mind in a flurry of half-formed thoughts because he realizes what Nathan is actually doing.

“Your knee is in the way,” he snaps, and Gabriel has never moved so fast in his life.

Nathan climbs halfway over Gabriel’s lap – swift, cat-like – and settles himself down so he’s sitting right in front of him, back to his chest, Gabriel’s knees bracketing his skinny hips. Nathan hesitates for a moment but then he reaches up and hauls Gabriel’s limp arms down around his shoulders so that his hands are hanging loosely above Nathan’s lap.

It’s not the first time they’ve been this close. But it’s the first time Nathan has actually, deliberately placed them in it. The first time with intent.

Gabriel is almost afraid to breathe.

“If it bothers you, move,” Nathan says irritably and Gabriel could almost laugh at that – though he doesn’t, because it would probably be on the verge of hysterical – because there is absolutely nothing in the world that could bother him _less_.

“Does it bother _you_?” He asks, but tentatively allows himself to pull Nathan back just the slightest inch. There’s no resistance, and he’s almost in his lap at this point, and Gabriel knows that he shouldn’t push his luck, but he’s always been horrifically terrible at holding himself back when it comes to Nathan. He presses his hands, open palmed, against Nathan’s stomach and feels it jump a little under his shirt.

“If it bothered me I wouldn’t have done it,” he says, and his voice sounds at least a little unsteady.

 _Don_ _’t get carried away_ , Gabriel tells himself, but the words are such a whisper that it’s all too easy to ignore them, to slowly edge his hands downwards, rest them on the line of Nathan’s waist so that his thumb can skirt along the skin tucked under his shirt and just above the belt of his jeans.

Nathan doesn’t say or do anything. In fact Gabriel could swear he almost feels him lean forward into his touch just a little.

Gabriel hesitates for a second longer, but when Nathan shows no signs of telling him to stop he slowly trails his hands up and under Nathan’s shirt, fingers and palms and every nerve he has in his body feeling the bare slide of his too-warm skin.

Nathan breathes out a low, loud breath.

Gabriel wants to ask _is this fine_ , he wants to keep touching Nathan anyway, he wants to touch him more, pull them closer; he wants so much, but at the same time he knows they’ve been here before.

It’s the bathroom all over again, and Gabriel can almost feel the phantom touch of Nathan’s lips at his own, and it’s that more than anything that gives him the strength to drag his hands back down Nathan’s sides – and the way he feels him shiver underneath his fingers is almost enough to break him – but he manages to place them back safely on his waist.

Gabriel doesn’t know if he can take it a second time if Nathan touches him and then backs away.

They’re both breathing pretty heavily, and Gabriel tries to put it down to the thinness of the cold air, but he can feel how warm Nathan is and he knows he must be running at about the same temperature.

Nathan doesn’t push closer, but he doesn’t push him away either, and Gabriel – he can be content with this. There’s no risk, no way to lose out, and Nathan is so pleasantly comfortable in his arms and he doesn’t know if this is Nathan’s curiosity again, or if it’s some form of pity, or Nathan just honestly forgets sometimes that touching Gabriel like this is different from touching Arran.

He gives them a minute to come down, for Gabriel to get his head to stop thumping before he says:

“We should leave.”

Nathan shuffles against him, and he’s still a little breathless. “I’m a little too comfortable right now for that.”

Gabriel jostles him for being a little shit. “I’m serious. We could leave. Go somewhere else.”

Nathan yawns. “Where?”

Gabriel doesn’t even need to think about it. “Wales. You love it there. We can live on our own, by the river, like you always wanted.”

Nathan doesn’t reply for a moment, and when he does his voice is soft. “You remember that.”

“Of course I remember that. I remember everything about you.”

“Don’t be a sap,” Nathan says, but his words are so clearly empty.

“Nathan.”

Nathan sighs, reclines against him, and doesn’t speak for a moment. Gabriel can feel him thinking it over though. “I’d…” he hesitates, but pushes forward. “I’d like that.”

Gabriel smiles.

 .

Settling into Wales is hard.

It’s not like Gabriel had any illusions it’d be easy, but experiencing it is something else.

They take the train there. Which is hilarious somehow, that after everything that’s happened here they are just merrily chugging their way out of England without a second thought and nobody to stop them when a week ago they were hiding in a cave in Berlin and holding their breaths as heavy boots thudded up above them.

(Nathan could have made a cut to take them, but he hadn’t offered and Gabriel didn’t ask.

He thinks now that the war is over Nathan will never be using any ability but his own ever again.

Gabriel is unsurprised.)

They spend a good few weeks just living off the land and despite it all Nathan thrives. He gets more colour back into himself, becomes less stand-offish – although never less rude, because he wouldn’t be Nathan otherwise – and Gabriel knows that the isolation is good for him.

A contact of Gabriel’s tracks them down a cabin up in the middle of nowhere and the look on Nathan’s face when they step into it the first time is like a punch to Gabriel’s gut.

Nathan hovers at the threshold for a moment, scuffing his muddy boots a little unconsciously against the door stop, and looks around with uncharacteristically wide eyes. He hesitantly steps inside; walking with soft footfalls like he thinks if he applies too much pressure the whole place might just fall apart.

Gabriel lingers behind him, anxiety sinking angry claws into his stomach. Nathan walks in slow, careful circles around the interior. It’s small, there’s no denying that. There’s a kitchenette, and a living area with a bed neither of them will ever sleep on. Further down there’s a door to the bathroom, and out back on the deck is a cranky generator that’ll splutter out just enough power to give them hot water most days.

Nathan steps forward, trails his fingers along the dusty slab of wood that makes the kitchen table. His head is turned down, hair in his face, and Gabriel can’t see his eyes. He wants to, needs to know if this is alright, okay, if this is what Nathan wants.

He doesn’t have much to offer him at this point – he’s already given him everything that matters – but he can offer him _this_.

Quiet. Solitude. _Home_.

Nathan’s still facing down, fingers rubbing against the tabletop wood, and Gabriel can’t take it anymore.

“Do you… do you like it?”

Nathan doesn’t answer for a moment, keeps touching the wood like it’s somehow precious.

Gabriel can’t even breathe.

 _It's too much, it's not enough, he doesn't like it, he doesn't want to be here with Gabriel_ _, he pushed too much, too soon –_

Nathan looks up.

He’s smiling.

.

Living with Nathan, just the two of them, is everything that Gabriel has ever wanted.

The water is never quite hot enough, and the fireplace clogs with ash much too fast, meaning that every other week they argue about whose turn it is to clean it which usually winds up with handfuls of ash being shoved down shirts and smeared on faces. One time Nathan accidentally swallowed a mouthful and spent the next half hour coughing out clouds of black and Gabriel had literally laughed himself to tears.

The nights are cold and brisk, and although they talk about dragging the bed outside they sleep on a shabby old foldout on the deck instead. On the nights Nathan doesn’t sleep Gabriel drifts off with his fingers running through his hair, and on the nights he manages he lets Gabriel move him around, shift their bodies so that they line up with the right amount of closeness and space, although he’s always careful where he puts his hands, never pushes at the unspoken boundaries between them.

Nathan spends a lot of time in the woods and down by the river. Most of the time Gabriel goes with him too, even if it’s just to sit and mind his clothes while Nathan lopes off around the woods in wolf form. Sometimes Nathan transforms but stays with him, and Nathan lets Gabriel use him as a big, canine pillow as he reads.

When Nathan is in a good mood he lets him read aloud and Gabriel starts to bring Solzhenitsyn’s works with him just to see Nathan’s irritable reaction because he’d never warmed to any of the man’s books but his favorite, but he always lets Gabriel read them to him anyway.

There are times though when Nathan leaves without a word, or Gabriel wakes up alone, and he knows these are the days Nathan wants to be alone.

Sometimes he comes back tired or bloody or naked; sometimes a combination of all three.

Gabriel doesn’t ask, but tries to be just that little bit more tactile because those are the moods when Nathan receives it the best, needs it the most.

He thinks he has Arran to thank for that. Because no matter how fucked up Nathan’s life has been, at least somebody taught him it was okay to want to be touched and comforted sometimes.

It’s not exactly like Gabriel would ever complain about it. He always wants to be touched by Nathan.

He keeps it safe though; pulling Nathan to lean against him when they’re on the couch, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck or through his hair, sometimes if Nathan is looking particularly out of it and Gabriel is feeling particularly risky, he allows himself to wrap his arms around him completely, pull him against his chest and let their legs tangle or fall off the couch or whatever.

If he’s read the mood right Nathan will usually fall asleep like that and Gabriel gets the pleasure of watching the lines in his face ease, the skitter and skate of his breath as he relaxes in ways he never does while awake.

It’s heart breaking, amazing, beautiful – that Nathan trusts Gabriel like this. Trusts him to hold him close and keep him safe from whatever is chasing his back while he sleeps.

(he thinks about Annalise sometimes, when he watches Nathan like this, and wonders how she – how anybody – could betray somebody as beautiful and perfect as Nathan.)

And it’s good, living like this, it’s so good.

Even when it’s bad it’s good.

Until it’s not.

.

It’s on one of Nathan’s worse days, and he comes home blood covered and shaking and more or less completely unresponsive.

“Nathan,” Gabriel says, and he has to step in and tilt Nathan’s head so that he can see his eyes.

They’re beautiful – as they always are – but they’re also dull. Gabriel can practically feel him looking right through him, and he knows right away that Nathan’s retreated to the place inside of him he goes when he’s had too much.

Gabriel guides him to sit at the kitchen table, and, as gently as he can, runs his fingers along Nathan’s skin, feeling the grit and slick of blood and dirt. There’s no wounds, so either Nathan’s healed already or, more likely, the blood was never his.

“Nathan, you need to take a shower,” Gabriel says softly, hands on Nathan’s and scanning his eyes for any kind of recognition. “Do you think you can manage that?”

Nathan’s gaze flickers to him, then away, and he shrugs.

Just a little, but it’s something.

“Okay,” Gabriel says, then again: “Okay.”

He gets back to his feet, brushes his hand through Nathan’s disgusting hair, and leaves to warm the shower.

It splutters miserably and the water comes out in a rusty shriek. It’s not as hot as Gabriel would like – never is – but Nathan has had much worse. He lays out a towel on the chair wedged near the sink and goes back out to get Nathan.

He’s sitting exactly where Gabriel left him.

“Alright,” Gabriel says, softly, and reaches down to get his hands under Nathan’s arm and pull him to his feet. He comes up with no resistance, won’t walk on his own but will allow Gabriel to lead him.

 _He_ _’s getting worse lately_ , Gabriel realizes, because Nathan had been slipping and sliding for a while, but it feels like they’re heading towards an inevitable crash.

It’s like now that Nathan has his freedom, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Now that he has space to breathe, and safety, everything that he’s been through has come crashing down back into reality for him.  The last year or so especially, because Gabriel gets the feeling that Nathan had dealt with his childhood by rationalizing that at least it was only happening to him.

But war wasn’t like that. War happened to everybody. And as horrifying as it was to say, Nathan had been a part of that war. A big part. 

(Gabriel had too, of course, had possibly killed even more people than Nathan. But Gabriel had been raised a Black Witch, and Gabriel had done everything he had done for Nathan.

There was no way Gabriel could feel guilty over the lives he’d taken if it’d allowed Nathan to keep his.)

He leads Nathan into the bathroom and towards the shower, but Nathan stares at it blankly.

“Can you undress?” Gabriel asks, and Nathan turns to stare at him instead, which Gabriel supposes is probably a no.

It’s not like he’s never seen Nathan naked before – Nathan’s gift has a bit of a side effect to such a degree – but Gabriel’s always tried to keep his eyes above waist level and he’s never actually _stripped_ him before.

Well, not outside of some very private thoughts and dreams he wakes up aching and guilty from.

He thinks about just putting Nathan in the shower clothes and all, but that would solve nothing because getting Nathan out of wet jeans when he was dripping and smelling of soap would be considerably harder for a lot of reasons and it wasn’t like he could exactly leave him as was.

“Okay,” Gabriel says, and steps forward to take the hem of Nathan’s shirt in his hands. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

Another blank look and Gabriel almost misses the days when Nathan would blank him on purpose.

The shirt is easy to get off even without Nathan’s help, and Gabriel drops it in the sink because it’s heavy and wet with blood and if Nathan decides he wants to wake up sometime during the shower, Gabriel would rather he not have to see it.

When he turns back around Nathan is staring at the running shower, one hand lifted so that his fingers are hovering just in the stream. There’s already a spiral of red edging its way down the drain from where the blood has washed off his fingers.

Gabriel comes forward again. “Now your jeans, okay?”

Nathan doesn’t move an inch. Gabriel isn’t surprised.

Getting his fingertips to steady enough to undo Nathan’s belt is a chore and a half; the buckle is slippery with mud and other stuff, and he’s all too aware of how close they’re standing, Nathan’s breath against his cheek as he pulls the belt loose and starts work on the jean buttons.

 _Don_ _’t think about it_ , he tells himself, and he honestly doesn’t want to. Nathan is half gone in his own head and Gabriel doesn’t want to focus on his naked skin; he wants to focus on _Nathan_.

The pants are harder than the shirt, but one way or another Gabriel manages to get them off. They crumple messily to the ground and Gabriel takes a second to kick them under the sink and out of sight before he guides Nathan into the shower.

Nathan lets himself be gently pushed, shuffling over the baby ledge and onto the plastic flooring, but he doesn’t do more than that, stands under the stream and looks at Gabriel with empty eyes. The blood is washing off him in rivers of dark red and crusty brown, but it’s not enough and Gabriel knows it.

“The things I do for you,” he whispers under his breath, and it’s meant to be sarcastic and a little joking, but it falls too flat and too honest because at this point he’s pretty sure both of them know there’s not a single thing Gabriel _wouldn_ _’t_ do for him.

He doesn’t think about it when he steps into the shower with Nathan, and his clothes go soggy and heavy instantly but he can always take them off later, but right now Nathan is the priority.

There’s a bar of soap on a little ledge and Gabriel takes it, urges Nathan back against the wall so he has more room to work. “I’m going to have to wash you, alright?”

No response. Gabriel doesn’t know why he even asks, just that it’d feel wrong _not_ to.

Nathan’s skin is tough and sun-beaten. He scrubs the soap along his arms, feels it hitch and catch on scar tissue because Nathan is absolutely covered in it, and each and every single time Gabriel touches a new one he feels the lightest flare of anger for the people who put them there.

He doesn’t hate the scars though. Could never hate a single part of Nathan.

He tries to be gentle, talks to Nathan when he’s going to move him, tells him where he’s going to touch.

Gabriel is so focused on just getting him clean, of not looking where he’s not scrubbing, that it takes him a moment to realize that Nathan has started breathing heavier, his chest heaving like he can’t seem to get enough air. When he looks up he realizes Nathan has one hand over his face and he’s quite possibly crying.

“Nathan,” Gabriel says, and he sets the soap aside immediately, one hand going to Nathan’s face and the other to the wrist lightly covering it. “Nathan, what’s wrong?”

Nathan shakes his head just slightly, and at least he’s responding now, so Gabriel just stays where he is, one hand stroking along Nathan’s cheek and the thumb of his other rubbing soothing circles at his wrist; he can feel the high-strung thrumming of Nathan’s pulse beneath his fingertips.

It takes a good few minutes before Nathan’s breathing evens out but Gabriel stays where is, keeps a hold of him, waits to see if Nathan wants to talk, if he can talk, or if they’re just going to pretend this didn’t happen.

Nathan breathes in, then out, and says: “I thought I had it under control.”

“What under control?”

“Me, him – the animal. I thought I had it under control now. I thought Marcus taught me.” He finally pulls the hand away from his face and he looks so completely and utterly drained that Gabriel is suddenly a little worried he’s going to pass out on him. “But it’s like… it’s like when I first got the Gift again. He won’t listen to me anymore, Gabriel.”

Gabriel thinks of the nights that Nathan hadn’t gone to bed with him, the increasing time he’s been spending out in the woods alone, and, of course, the blood.

He’s honestly been expecting something like this for a while, but he hadn’t wanted to push until Nathan was ready to talk.

He keeps one hand on Nathan’s cheek and raises the other to stroke it through his hair. Nathan leans into his touch desperately. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

“You never think it’s my fault,” Nathan points out and Gabriel smiles a little at that.

“Sometimes I do. When you’ve done something really stupid. But this? This is _never_ your fault, Nathan. I should know better than anybody that Gifts have a mind of their own at times. They don’t always do what you want them to do. Sometimes, it seems they go out of their way to do exactly the opposite.”

Nathan’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s grimacing, shaking a little under Gabriel’s hands. “I killed him.”

“Who?”

“Soul. I didn’t even want to.” Nathan hesitates. “No, that’s not right. I _did_ want to. But I wasn’t _going_ to. But then He came out and I couldn’t – I couldn’t stop it.”

“It’s not exactly like Soul was White Witch of the year,” Gabriel reminds him gently, smoothing both his hands down to Nathan’s cheeks so he can lean forward and brush a light kiss on his forehead. “Nobody can blame you for hating him. For wanting him dead.”

“I nearly ate him, Gabriel.” Despite the steam rising around them Nathan is very, very white.

“Your animal acted on instinct. It knew Soul was a threat, and it knew he was dangerous. It did what it thought was best. And I think we both know that Soul was probably going to die in that ambush one way or another. He was never going to come quietly.”

Nathan shakes his head and Gabriel steps forward, nullifies the distance between them so he looks Nathan right in his eyes. “You keep blaming yourself. You’ve convinced yourself what you did was a bad thing. Nathan, you ended a _war_. Soul was a bad, bad man.”

“I know,” Nathan says, frustrated, angry. His hands come up to grip at the shoulders of Gabriel’s soaking shirt. “I know that, but – then why doesn’t it feel that way?”

“Because you have the most ridiculous martyr complex I’ve ever seen,” Gabriel says, deadpan, and Nathan finally – _finally –_ cracks a smile.

He shoves weakly at Gabriel’s shoulders. “Shut up, I do not.”

“No, you do,” Gabriel says, catching Nathan’s wrists and smiling too. “It’s true. When have I ever lied to you?”

Nathan laughs at that, a small watery chuckle that catches a little on the way out, but it’s a laugh and Gabriel has never been so delighted to hear it. Nathan has always had a great laugh.

For a moment they stand there, Gabriel’s hands still around Nathan’s wrists up in the air and Nathan backed against the wall, still pale and tired looking, but aware and warm against Gabriel’s skin.

Nathan’s gone quiet, and his eyes are considerably darker, and he’s not staring, exactly, but his gaze seems to be studying Gabriel’s face in careful flicks. He’s not sure what Nathan’s looking for.

Nathan’s eyes drop to his lips. Gabriel stops breathing.

Carefully, Nathan lowers his arms and Gabriel lets his grip slip from his watery skin. Nathan slides up the wall he’s leaning against just the slightest inch, leans forward and, almost painfully slowly, drapes his arms around Gabriel’s shoulders so his interlaced wrists are resting against the back of his neck.

They’re very close, and Nathan is very naked and Gabriel’s mind has gone completely blank.

Nathan’s hair is a mess of black hanging over his face and in his eyes, and now that he’s aware and touching Gabriel and so close, he can’t help but be excessively conscious of the water spilling down his shoulders, the rivulets that trace the slope of his neck.

Gabriel’s stomach lurches because Nathan is always ridiculously attractive to him but right now he’s even more so, and one of his hands has slid up to Gabriel’s hair, a gentle fist in the wet tangles at the nape of his neck, and Nathan’s pulling him in, closer, and Gabriel is pretty much powerless to pull away.

Nathan kisses him.

It’s firm and confident, but also so very gentle, and unlike the first time Nathan tried this, Gabriel finds himself kissing back without a second thought, his arms coming to rest either side of Nathan’s head, pressed against the slippery shower tiles.

Nathan’s mouth is soft where the rest of him is hard, lips wet, tongue warm and the heat of his mouth is almost too much. Gabriel’s mind is going blank; he can hear the _shhhh_ of the shower, feel the weight of Nathan’s arms around his neck, the fingers in his hair, but mostly it’s narrowed to the curl of Nathan’s tongue against his own and the gentle whisper of their shared breathing between them.

There’s a part of him that’s aware this is a bad idea, that Nathan has a bit of a history of leading him on only to turn away, but Gabriel isn’t as strong as everybody around him seems to think he is. He’s nineteen, and the boy who is his absolute everything is kissing him with such tender carefulness that the world has turned to sepia.

The last time they’d kissed had been intensity and passion; quick and hard, and Gabriel had been almost too aware of what was happening, afraid to let it start and once it did terrified of how quick he knew it’d end.

This kiss is not like that. It’s not like anything Gabriel has experienced before.

Everything is hazy around him, they’re both too close and not close enough, and Gabriel has to work to keep some space between them because he might be wearing clothes but Nathan is not and it’d be all too easy to touch him, to slide his hands along his naked skin, take this that little bit further –

It’s not the right time though, and Gabriel doesn’t even need to think hard to know that. And he’s happy like this, just kissing Nathan, feeling the seconds grow and expand until he’s not actually sure how long they’ve been kissing like this only that he doesn’t want it to end.

Nathan pulls away first, and Gabriel isn’t even aware he’s leaning forward to kiss him again until Nathan stops him, turning away and burying his face into Gabriel’s shoulder.

 _Fuck_ , Gabriel thinks and he’s already opening his mouth to say something when Nathan speaks.

“Don’t,” he says. “I can feel you panicking.”

“Sorry.”

“I just said _don_ _’t_. I’m not stopping because I want to, you idiot. I’m stopping because I’m cold.”

Gabriel’s sluggish, kiss-slowed mind takes a moment to work out what Nathan means. And that’s when he realizes that yes, now that Nathan mentions it, he is kind of cold. Probably because the hot water ran out at some point and they’re now standing beneath what feels like a steady sleet of ice sliding down around him.

“Oh,” he says, and hesitates for a moment, pulling away from Nathan and turning to shut the shower off.

When he turns back around Nathan is shaking a little. Gabriel holds out his hand and Nathan takes it, allows Gabriel to step back and lead him out of the shower.

He’s not sure what he should say now. What is there to say? His lips are tingling and Nathan’s hand is still in his. Nathan’s fingers are slippery, trembling from cold and adrenaline in his grip.

He could probably leave him on his own, but Gabriel feels like that’s the hardest thing in the world right now.

“You’re thinking too much,” Nathan says, and his fingers curl around Gabriel’s.

It takes everything he has to pull away from that grip, drag his fingers loose and turn around for a moment as he fumbles for the towel he left by the sink. He’s trying to wash the image of Nathan from his head – naked and beautiful and so ready to touch Gabriel – and it’s not working, and with every heavy thump of his heart he can hear Nathan breathe behind him.

 _Control_ , he tells himself because he should be an expert at that by now.

He turns around and shakes the towel open, drapes it around Nathan’s shivery shoulders. One of Nathan’s hands comes up to catch the corner, holding it in place. The tip of his thumb skates across the skin of Gabriel’s wrist and he tries not to shudder.

“Gabriel,” Nathan says softly, and Gabriel’s control is slipping all over again.

Nathan’s hand comes to his face, fingers gently skidding across his skin, trailing along his lips.

The shower kiss is still pumping shudders of icy blood through him, and Gabriel can feel himself leaning into Nathan’s touch, losing grip of himself again, and once again he thinks _control_.

“Don’t,” he manages to choke out, catching Nathan’s wrist and pulling it away from his face.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says and he’s staring at the dip of Nathan’s neck.

“Because you love me?” Nathan asks and Gabriel doesn’t answer. “That’s stupid. You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

There are more words in Gabriel’s head than he knows what to do with. “That was a mistake.”

Nathan’s silent for a moment, then: “It didn’t feel like a mistake.”

Gabriel closes his eyes, and finds it suddenly very hard to breathe. _Don_ _’t hope for anything_ , Gabriel tells himself, and it’s not hard, because he loves Nathan, loves him so completely, trusts him in everything – everything except this.

 _Don_ _’t, don’t, don’t –_

There’s the sound of wet feet on tiles, the shuffle of the towel dropping to the floor. Nathan’s hands slide up his arms, past his shoulders, come to a rest on his back.

Slowly, Nathan pulls him forward and Gabriel lets him, rests his head in the perfect space between Nathan’s shoulder and his neck and he gives up on the idea of control, of not being emotional, and he maybe starts to cry.

Not once does Nathan let him go.

.

Things change and Gabriel isn’t sure how he feels.

No. That’s not true, exactly. It’s just that Gabriel feels so many things that the way they conflict against one another is starting to drive him a little crazy.

Nathan spends less time by himself in the woods, sleeps closer to Gabriel at night, touches him with, soft, curious hands in ways that leave Gabriel completely breathless. He kisses him often, always slow and safe like he’s afraid Gabriel is going to push him away.

And that’s the thing.

Gabriel wants to; wants to but can’t, because when Nathan looks at him with dark eyes from beneath his lashes, traces fingers along the back of Gabriel’s neck in tiny, intricate patterns and smiles at him like everything is okay, Gabriel just _breaks_.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be able to stop that. Knows he should, knows that in the long run this is just going to hurt him; knows that all it’ll take is for Annalise to breeze them by and everything will fall apart again.

He’s terrified. He wants Nathan so, so bad – but more than that, he wants Nathan to want _him_.

He doesn’t want to be touched by empty fingers and curious lips.

 _I love you so much_ , he thinks, hard and heavy and almost delirious with it. _I_ _’m so in love with you I didn_ _’t know it was possible. Please don_ _’t do this to me. Please don_ _’t take me just because I_ _’m here. I don_ _’t want to be your second choice, your replacement._

He thinks: _Love me, at least a fraction of as much, as I love you_.

He tries to tell Nathan as much, but he chokes on the words. Can’t bring himself to lose that gentle warmth. He’s desperate, he realizes, for whatever he can get from Nathan.

He doesn’t want it, not like this. But he wants it anyway he can have it.

So he makes a rule:

He doesn’t touch Nathan. Not the way Nathan touches him. He lets Nathan lead so that he doesn’t take it too far, push for more than Nathan is willing to give. He keeps it safe; kisses Nathan back, touches the skin Nathan guides him to, but that’s it.

 _Control_ , he reminds himself whenever he feels their kisses getting too deep.

 _Control, control, control_.

Gabriel loves him. Loves touching, kissing. Loves _being_ with Nathan.

But it hurts too. And Gabriel doesn’t know how to fix that, just make it bearable.

 _You love him_ , he says to himself whenever Nathan comes in close and guides Gabriel’s hands to his waist. _You love him, and he loves you, but this is all that you_ _’re going to get._

 _Don'_ _t ruin it._

_._

They’re out by the river and it’s dark; it’s a new moon and the stars give everything an eerie sheen of silver.

Gabriel sits by the bank, watching as Nathan wades into the shallow river water, tries to catch fish with his bare hands and becomes increasingly frustrated as they slither on by. It’s hilarious and Gabriel can’t help but to laugh at him, because he knows Nathan knows better than this.

Nathan huffs at him, kicks at the water so it splashes but it splatters harmlessly to the grass a little to his left.

“Brilliant aim,” he says cheerfully and Nathan flips him off before sloshing his way towards the bank, hoisting himself out with an easy flex of his arms.

He pauses for a moment to shake his head like a dog, and Gabriel would normally find that stupidly endearing, but there’s something almost ethereal about Nathan in this light; painted in grey-toned shadows and droplets of water flashing like rainbows as he runs his hands through his hair, slick, bare chest heaving, shoulders rolling.

He looks like a dream. Too good to be true.

Gabriel wants to kiss him so badly.

 _Remember the rule,_ he says as Nathan casually flops down beside him, sprawls backwards and grins wickedly at him like he thinks he’s a riot. He’s so beautiful and Gabriel needs _to remember the rule_.

“What are you reading?” Nathan asks, rolling over so he’s on his stomach and peering at the book Gabriel has opened loosely in his lap.

Gabriel doesn’t even remember. “Do you want me to read it to you?” He asks.

Nathan shrugs, picks at the grass a little. “Nah. It’s too nice of a night to spoil it with your complex, French books.”

Gabriel smiles, not so much at him but past him.

It goes quiet for a moment – only little noises like the gentle push and pull of river water and the shivering of the trees in the cool night air – and Gabriel lets himself look back at his book.

He’s distinctly aware of Nathan next to him but he doesn’t think much of it because they’ve literally had a hundred nights like this by now and he knows that any moment Nathan will drift off to sleep and Gabriel will maybe run his fingers through Nathan’s hair because it always manages to keep the nightmares away.

Instead Nathan says:  “Gabriel.”

Gabriel looks up and Nathan moves in a fluid wave: hands on the ground either side of Gabriel’s lap and naked back a gentle slope. His face is right in front of him and Gabriel knows what’s coming, tilts his head and waits.

Nathan kisses him.

No, Nathan _kisses_ him.

He presses in close and manoeuvres his mouth open, kisses him so hard that Gabriel is almost pushed back by the force of it, has to throw a hand out to steady himself so he doesn’t fall.

It’s sleek skin, small wet noises, heavy breathing between the rough friction; Nathan nips at his lips and Gabriel feels a thrill run down his spine and he’s losing track of what’s happening, whose hands are where, how long it’s been. Nathan’s so close, and it feels good and he wants _more_ and –

Gabriel pulls himself away with a gasp, leans back and tries to breathe away the smell of Nathan that is trying to lure him back into the kiss again.

There’s no sound except their panting – and Gabriel can see Nathan’s chest heaving, almost as hard as his own.

Then Nathan says: “You don’t like me doing this.”

It’s not a question and Gabriel doesn’t know what to say to it. “Nathan –.”

“I thought so for a while. Wasn’t sure, but I thought.” Nathan’s face is grim. “Why?”

Gabriel winces, and his back hurts from the awkward way he’s leaning but Nathan is still in his space and shows no indication that he’s planning on moving.

“It’s not like that. Of course I like it.” Which isn’t a lie.

“But?” Nathan prompts almost aggressively.

“But nothing.”

“But nothing _bullshit_.”

“You’re angry,” Gabriel observes and Nathan scowls at him, finally pulling back to sit on his heels. Slowly, Gabriel sits up again.

“I just want to know what you’re thinking.” Nathan stares at him like he’s trying to crack Gabriel’s head open, trying to drag the answers he wants forward with force alone. “You say you love me, but you don’t kiss me. Do you think I haven’t noticed? I’m not stupid. You haven’t touched me since the night in the shower. If you don’t like me touching you then _say_ it.” 

Gabriel feels chilled in a way he can’t explain because Nathan _doesn_ _’t get it_. It’s almost enough to make him angry, really, because it feels like after all this time Nathan still doesn’t understand just what he means to Gabriel, because if he did he’d never be asking him questions like this.

“How about you tell me instead?” Gabriel says, and it’s not quite a snap but nearly. “Why are _you_ kissing _me_?”

Nathan blinks at him, baffled. He opens his mouth, closes it, and his expression goes from confusion to anger so quick it’s like a switch. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Gabriel shrugs, but it’s increasingly hard to keep up the front that he’s angry. “It’s a pattern with you, isn’t it? Today it’s me. A week from now it’ll be Annalise.”

“What the hell does Annalise have to do with this?”

“What _doesn_ _’t_ Annalise have to do with this?” Gabriel asks, almost indignant. “It’s always about Annalise one way or another.”

He expects Nathan to snap at him again but instead he’s hit with deathly silence. He looks up and Nathan is – he looks like Gabriel just slapped him.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” He asks, and his words float out soft like puffs of cotton. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Gabriel feels sick; dizzy, his head hurts. He shrugs tiredly. “What’s there to say? You’ve not really made it a secret where I rank in terms of things. You love me, I know you love me, but you don’t love me like I love you. And I’m okay with that. I’ll love you every single day for the rest of my life, beyond that, but for you… I know it’s not the same.”

“Gabriel,” Nathan says, and he shuffles in close again and Gabriel goes to lean away but Nathan is quicker, his hands come down over the top of Gabriel’s, palms hot against his skin and holding him where he sits. “When are you talking about? That’s stuff from ages ago. Annalise…” Nathan hesitates, bites at his cheek. “Annalise was my first love. You once said I loved her when I was fourteen; and you were right. It took me a while, I know that, but Annalise she’s not… She’s not what I want.”

Gabriel wants to believe him so badly, but it’s hard, it’s written into his very DNA, a chemical reaction in his blood; _Nathan doesn_ _’t love you the way you love him. Nathan loves Annalise. You need to let him go._

“Nathan, I can’t –.”

“Just be quiet for a second,” Nathan says and Gabriel scowls at him. Nathan doesn’t even pay attention, instead he picks up one of Gabriel’s hands that he’s been pushing into the dirt, turns it over in his palm and spreads the fingers of his other hand across it. He almost looks like he’s forgotten they were talking, too busy tracing his fingertips so gently against Gabriel’s skin it’s almost heart breaking. He looks up then, and his eyes are dead serious.

“I love you, the way you think I love Annalise – the way I used to want to. I love you the way you love me.” Nathan kisses his hand, drags his lips along his skin to kiss the beating pulse in his wrist. He looks at him from beneath his lashes. “I’m sorry I made you wait for so long, but I’m telling the truth, Gabriel.” One of Nathan’s hands comes up, touches his cheek, and Gabriel realizes he’s not breathing and he can see that Nathan isn’t either; he’s red and his lips are trembling, and Gabriel knows how hard it is for Nathan to say this, how hard it is for Nathan to try and tell him these things and he loves him for it so much, loves him for knowing that Gabriel needs him to be clear here. “ _I love you_.”

Gabriel has heard Nathan say he loved him before, but not like this. They’d been bittersweet affirmations of friendships, acknowledgements that Nathan didn’t care about him the way he cared for Nathan.

He’s dreamt about this moment a thousand times and he thought if this ever happened he’d do this, or that, but instead he finds that he’s crying.

Nathan’s fingers brush at his wet eyelashes. “You’re kind of a cry baby lately,” he says, and Gabriel can hear him smiling.

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Gabriel says in reply and he looks up, takes Nathan’s face in his hands and he kisses him.

It’s short and wet because Gabriel hadn’t thought to wipe his eyes, but it’s probably his favourite kiss yet.

“Finally,” Nathan says when Gabriel pulls away. One of his hands is clasped over Gabriel’s, holding his hand against his face like he thinks there’s a chance in hell Gabriel could pull away. “It’s about time you kissed me.”

Gabriel kisses him again to keep him quiet.

And again.

.

Nathan breaths out with every touch Gabriel grazes along his skin, makes small noises that Gabriel could listen to forever, that get lost in the little background sounds – trees shiver, river pushes, pulls – and Gabriel can’t take his eyes off of him.

Nathan’s skin is rough all over, so hot to touch, salty and tender beneath Gabriel’s lips. Nathan’s fingers press bruises into Gabriel’s skin; spots of colour that bloom and fade, purple and blue and black that skate across his skin and disappear like fireworks.

He’s beautiful like this and Gabriel can’t stop his hands from touching him everywhere he can reach and Nathan touches him too, moves with him, hands at Gabriel’s shoulders, pulling him down so that Gabriel’s face is right below his ear and he is so deliriously happy, mind awash with pleasure and every burning imprint Nathan leaves against his skin.

His lips press against Nathan’s neck, and he realizes he’s whispering.

“ _I love you, I love you, I love you, I –”_

.

They spend the night by the river and Nathan falls asleep with his head on Gabriel’s arm.

It’s starting to get too warm out for this and Gabriel’s arm goes numb from it, but Nathan’s wearing marks from Gabriel’s mouth on his skin, and he knows they’ll probably be gone by morning, but he can’t help but lightly smooth his fingers over them.

He never thought they’d get this, and Nathan isn’t going to get better overnight, and Gabriel isn’t completely sure how this is going to change things for them, but he’s so ridiculously, pathetically happy.

Nathan breathes slow and even in his sleep, hot on Gabriel’s skin, and he pulls him in closer and Gabriel’s sure he’s smiling like an idiot, fingers gentle as he cups his face and kisses him on the bridge of his nose.

Nathan’s face wrinkles a little but he doesn’t wake and it’s so insanely endearing and Gabriel just knows that this boy is _it –_ that he will love Nathan, stay with Nathan, _be_ with Nathan, forever.

 _I love you_ , he thinks and he can’t wait until morning where he’ll whisper it against the gentle curve of Nathan’s mouth.

And this time, he thinks, Nathan will whisper it back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why do all their important scenes take place in a bathroom?? How many times does Gabriel say "Nathan" and then just look at him meaningfully?? These are all important, relevant questions. My answer is this; I'm so sorry. 
> 
> My thanks to the three Nabriel playlists on 8tracks that had perfect over emotional music, a big a++ to you guys. 
> 
> Also to the lovely, amazing (albeit tiny) fandom; please welcome this baby newcomer, you all seem really cool and I'm in for the long haul.


End file.
